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Erik J. Barzeski's NSLog that is and this entry which asks, "what's the closest you've come to death?" Well, having grown up in Miami in the 70s and early 80s, and spending 7 years in the Air Force, and living through a hurricane, the closest I've come to dying is...
Drowning in a parking lot.
Yes.
Drowning.
In.A.Parking.Lot.
In Upstate New York.
Gather 'round kids for an amazing tale of dumb...
I almost died a couple years ago. Now, usually, when people say this, they mean, "I was almost hit by a truck,", etc. In other words, they were certainly in danger, but it probably wasn't something that was about to be guaranteed fatal. When I say it here, in reference to the following incident, I mean that for probably the longest 45 seconds of my life, I truly believed that I was about to check out.
I was at *funeral* of all places, the funeral of my housemate and ex-girlfriend's grandfather, sitting in the corner with the morbid people, drinking some water. That's right. Water. H2O. The wet stuff. In a little conical cup.
I get a little water in the wrong pipe...okay, I'll go outside and cough, don't want to disturb anyone...
interlude the first: Why do people whisper and talk so softly at a funeral? It's not like you're going to disturb THE DEAD GUY IN THE BIG BOX...
So I get outside, and the coughing gets worse...hmm...I must have made a very odd noise, because Jenny (person whose grandfather was the dead guy) follows me outside. HMMmmm...still have water in the wrong place. I need to cough harder. I'll take a nice big breath....
interlude the second: Did you know that when the shit TRULY hits the fan, it in fact DOES sound like it did in "Airplane"
The definition of bad: Trying to inhale, and having it NOT WORK. Either I had a thin film of water over the airway, or my throat just spasmed, but either way, I.Could.Not.Breathe for about ten seconds. Not "breathe with trouble". Not "breathe, but not really effectively". I mean, for ten seconds or so, (estimation, I really wasn't timing it, but Jenny says it probably wasn't much longer if at all.), it was like I no longer had lungs, and my trachea just *ended* in a block of glass.
interlude the third: suffocation is a GREAT way to realize just HOW long a second takes to pass...hint: it's a LONG time
I would have panicked, but I was rather busy suffocating. So I find that if I inhale like I'm trying to inhale the parking lot, I can get a WEE bit of
air forced in...getting air out is easier, but not by much. So now, I can make VERY disturbing sounds, enough to motion to Jenny, that "Hey, John's fucking CHOKING here, and maybe trying to Heimlich him would be a REALLY GOOD IDEA!!
Unfortunately, the Heimlich maneuver doesn't work for shit if the person doing it to you is a foot shorter, and a bit panicky herself. I have to say that I am now panicking myself, with good reason I think...
interlude the fourth: I have now decided that the very ESSENCE of "a sinking feeling" is when the Heimlich maneuver FAILS. It's not supposed to EVER do that. ESPECIALLY not on me.
So, I figure, I need a lot of air going out of me NOW so I can get some back in me...because I'm not liking the fuzziness in the vision, or the feeling of the base of my brain screaming "BREATHE YOU STUPID FUCK! I NEED *OXYGEN*, AND *NOW* WOULD BE AN EXCELLENT TIME TO GET SOME!"
So I commence to trying to burp, vomit AND cough at the same time. Fortunately, (or unfortunately depending on your personal opinion of me.), this works enough to get usable amounts of air back into my lungs so I can cough effectively.
Interlude the fifth: Yes, I AM familiar with how to self-Heimlich. However, it's a parking lot at a funeral home...the only things that would have worked were the parking bumps, and had I not gotten my air, I would have been doing at least ONE impact with those.
So now, my throat feels like I've been gargling with broken glass, but the feeling of air in my lungs is, for a few seconds, better than all the sex...hell, better than EVERY other good feeling I have ever had...COMBINED. It's amazing how good something like NOT DYING can feel. People are a little FREAKED OUT, because there's only supposed to be one corpse per funeral, and you aren't supposed to make more on the spot.
Interlude the sixth: Wendy's Frosties are quite soothing to a racked throat.
I had two thoughts during the process...
- DON'T FUCKING DIE DUE TO DROWNING IN A PARKING LOT. Being fodder for the next two months of morning show jokes about "what kind of dumbass can't work a glass of water" is very specifically how I DON'T want to die.
- What kind of attention whore prima donna dies at someone else's funeral? "John, It's not about YOU, it's SOMEONE ELSE'S DAY" Yes, this was running through the back of my head, along with "Well, my funeral will be cheap, Mike and I got along really well, just throw me in the box next to him, I already have the suit."
I could have gone a LOT longer without knowing what I learned that day. (This next bit is the most sincere thing anyone will ever hear me say,) I never want to go through that again.
This happened just before I moved to KCMO, so I didn't even have time to get properly drunk about it for a while.
john
p.s. For the next few hours, I had quite a few people laughing themselves into a coma over how they were going to have to start cutting my food up for me...and only letting me eat baby food. As one said, "Gerbers....because John can't manage water" Aren't friends grand?
I might make this into a podcast just for the hell of it.
Posted by John C. Welch at 22:46 | Permalink
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